


My Late Enchantments Still in Brilliant Colors Shine

by icepixie



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Gen, Magic, technomages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icepixie/pseuds/icepixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There's no way you could've gotten a pilot's license without realizing 'Equal parts wonder, delight, terror, and whimsy' does <em>not</em> constitute a cargo manifest."  Susan Ivanova runs into a technomage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Late Enchantments Still in Brilliant Colors Shine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Allerleirauh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allerleirauh/gifts).



> This takes place near the end of season three.
> 
> The title comes from [Sonnet I](http://www.violafair.com/poetry/millay/millaymine2.htm) in _Mine the Harvest_ by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, tarzanic!

"There's no way you could've gotten a pilot's license without realizing 'Equal parts wonder, delight, terror, and whimsy' does _not_ constitute a cargo manifest," Susan Ivanova told the young woman standing before her next to the open loading hatch of her ship.

"But it is entirely true," the woman replied.

Susan felt her impending headache flare into life behind her eyes. It had started as a dull pounding the moment she looked at the so-called cargo manifest that Ms. Euphrosyne (no last name given, which didn't really surprise her), captain of the _Stardust_ , had filed prior to her scheduled departure time. Now that she was confronting the woman herself, all sweeping black cloak, pale hair, and icy blue eyes frosted with a haughty expression, she knew it was only going to get worse.

"You're a technomage, aren't you?" she asked.

Euphrosyne nodded. "A member of the third circle, fifth order." She took in Susan's carefully cultivated blank expression. "It's quite a high level," she said, sounding rather put out.

Susan shook her head. "I've never understood you people. Using technology to hide your use of other technology...it's impressive, but it's not magic."

The technomage stared at her with those odd, cold eyes. "Do you believe in magic, Commander Ivanova?"

Susan paused. When she was very small, she had opened the door of her family’s dining room on Passover, fully ready for the prophet Elijah to walk through it and drink from his cup. She spent a summer giving rivers and streams a wide berth after hearing a story about the _rusalki_. Lingering doubts about the capability of one man to visit every child in the world notwithstanding, she had anticipated Father Frost's arrival on the eve of the new year with genuine belief.

She had been sent to her first North American boarding school at age six, her parents' attempt to keep their latent telepath daughter out of the clutches of the Psi Corps. Though there was little celebration of the new year there, most of the students being home for the winter holidays, she nevertheless spent the whole day lurking around the front door of the old and drafty building, sure that Father Frost would walk through it bringing her heart’s desire—her parents and her brother smiling and happy, their hands extended to take her back to St. Petersburg with them.

The house adviser, a kindly woman who awkwardly patted her head and told her that perhaps her visitor would come tomorrow, eventually chivvied her off to bed well after lights-out. Alone in her room, her roommate home in Miami for the month, Susan bitterly tore down the snowflakes so painstakingly cut out of paper and tacked to the walls. Along with the brightly-colored card that read _S novim godom!_ , which had come last week in a box of toys her parents had sent, she threw them all in the trash.

No, Susan Ivanova did not believe in magic.

"I believe in what I can see with my own eyes, and so far I'm not seeing a cargo manifest."

Her cloak sweeping along with her, Euphrosyne raised her arm and indicated the loading hatch. "You're welcome to look for yourself."

She did _not_ have time for this. She ought to call one of Garibaldi's security officers in and have them catalog the contents of the ship, but the thing was, Sheridan had been right two years ago—the technomages were undeniably fascinating, even if they were also incredibly irritating.

Suppressing a grimace, Susan walked through the hatch.

Thankfully, the ship was was small to the point of being cramped, and its cargo bay was barely three meters long by three more wide. The boxes, all different sizes and colors, were stacked neatly and accessibly, with a central walkway leading between the two rows.

Susan chose a bright red box that came up to her knees. When she pulled the flaps open, a collection of metallic rods, each about thirty centimeters long, met her eyes. They were arrayed in neat rows and columns, stuck end-up in a molded plastic sheet. Furrowing her brow, she pulled one out, feeling for any distinguishing mark.

The metal suddenly grew warm in her hand, and in the blink of an eye—less, even—a dozen perfect red roses sprang from one end. One second, she was holding steel; the next, she could feel the tough, fibrous texture of rose stems. A glance at them showed thorns springing from each, all up and down the stems except exactly where her hand clasped them. The heady scent of rose petals filled the air.

She stared at Euphrosyne, who smiled serenely. "Wonder and delight," she said.

Susan touched one of the roses, feeling the soft, satiny texture of the petals rather than the nothingness of the hologram she still stubbornly expected.

"Right." The word wasn't as scoffing as it might have been a minute ago.

After surreptitiously inhaling the scent one last time, she dropped the bouquet back into the box, settling the stems into the vacant slot. By the time she looked back at it, after pulling up the _Stardust_ 's cargo manifest on her data pad, the roses were nowhere to be seen, and the rod she had pulled out was back in its place.

 _Metal sticks_ , she typed into the manifest. Thinking better of it, she deleted the entry and typed, _Artificial flowers_. Not satisfied with that either, she undeleted her first entry and combined the two. Garibaldi was going to love this.

"You'll enjoy this one," the technomage said, pointing to a yellow box about twice as big as the one Susan had just opened. She almost ignored it in favor of another crate, just on principle, but at the last second, she brought her hand back to the yellow box. It was lying on its side, and she had to kneel to open it.

"Aaaah!"

A fluffy gray and white husky puppy bounded out of the box, nearly bowling her onto her back. The cargo bay rang with the sound of its excited yips.

"What _is_ this?" As she asked the question, her hands—surely of their own accord—buried themselves in the puppy's fur. It seemed to enjoy that, for it quieted and curled up on her lap, apparently settling in.

Euphrosyne spread her hands. "Whimsy."

Of course.

"Is it real?" she asked as the puppy began to lick her hand. In response, Euphrosyne flicked her fingers, and the puppy disappeared.

A yes or no would've sufficed, Susan grumbled silently. She stood up, brushing non-existent dog hair off her pants, and added another entry to the cargo manifest. _Artificial dog. Very friendly artificial dog._

She headed for the next box, which was also the largest, a green container about the size and bulk of one of the computer stations in C'n'C. She glanced at Euphrosyne before opening it, wondering what else from the technomage's store of tricks was going to jump out at her this time. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw a shadow pass over the woman's face before she rearranged it into the haughty blankness that seemed to be her trademark.

Susan recoiled when she opened the box. "Good God," she whispered, staring at the rows of brown filtration masks that filled it. The polymer material was molded to fit around a person's entire face and head. Each had two blank, staring eyeholes and a boxy filter jutting out over the nose and mouth. It was an illusion, of course, but she couldn't help thinking that they were all too reminiscent of dead, desiccated faces.

Almost all of them were sized for children.

"They're for use in environments with large amounts of flying debris," Euphrosyne said behind her, the sudden sound making her jump. "It protects the brain and prevents lung damage."

"Yes, I've seen them before." She shuddered and, unable to look at the masks any longer, fixed her gaze on the technomage. "Are you traveling to a war zone?"

Euphrosyne bowed her head. "I hope not. But I fear I may find myself in one all the same."

Something in Susan's stomach flipped over. "What the hell are you doing with...with all this?"

Fire kindled in Euphrosyne's icy eyes. "Unlike my brothers and sisters, I believe we have a duty to help others with our talents. If I find myself in a position to give these out—" she nodded at the masks "—then the poor devils wearing them will need as much distraction as they can get. And I am in a unique position to provide it."

"But...how..."

Euphrosyne's shoulders sagged just a bit. Her chin drooped. Even her hair seemed to grow limp. She suddenly looked ten years older. "Please, Commander. Everything else in here is harmless diversion. I must be on my way, or I will be too late."

"Too late for what?"

Euphrosyne thinned her lips. "I do not know. But I feel there is potential for devastation."

Susan glanced at the destination listed at the top of the cargo manifest. Coriana VI. She'd never even heard of it.

She was going to catch hell from Garibaldi, and certainly if any of her subordinates had done this she would've thoroughly chewed them out, but Susan placed her thumb on the data pad, signing off on the amended cargo manifest.

"Thank you, Commander." Euphrosyne stuck her hand out, and Susan took it, half-expecting it to turn into a bird's wing or disappear or something equally unusual. But it was just an ordinary human hand, the slightly calloused skin cool and dry.

Managing to swirl her cloak even in the tight confines of the cargo bay, the technomage swept toward the front of her ship. Susan walked back through the loading hatch and back onto the station. After the hatch doors closed, she gave the ship one last, pensive look as the docking bots latched onto it and began to move down the exit lane.

When she went to shift her data pad back to her right hand, she realized something sharp was stuck to her palm. She opened her hand to see what it was.

Inside was the smallest, most perfect paper snowflake she'd ever seen, an impossible level of filigreed detail cut into it.

She darted her eyes back to the ship, which was disappearing in the distance, carrying its strange cargo and stranger captain with it. _Wonder, delight, terror, and whimsy._

Frowning, she placed the snowflake in her pocket.


End file.
